


What a Tragic Little Hero I Am

by lamerezouille



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Celebrity Draco Malfoy, HP: EWE, Helpful Harry Potter, Humor, M/M, Paparazzi, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamerezouille/pseuds/lamerezouille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no such thing as bad publicity. Draco wishes there were, so he enlists Harry to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Tragic Little Hero I Am

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for putting up with me, despite my being a very bad fest-participant. You're awesome. ♥
> 
> Thanks to bryoneybrynn for the most speedy and efficient and awesome beta! ♥
> 
> Also, thanks to the prompter, whose prompt was the most awesome prompt that ever prompted. It was such a great prompt, I couldn't live without being sure it had been filled. As a result, all my apologies to the prompter, because there is no way this little fic can even try to hold a candle to this prompt.
> 
> Title taken from a quote by Harry himself, from Goblet of Fire.
> 
> For [Prompt #13](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oKxFrF86d2c3FuVesbbG1NW8mLM0kphzpOwJLy225kY/edit).

“ _It was a deeply perturbed yet unconventionally attractive boy that entered Myrtle’s bathroom that night. She had never seen him before but she knew at once that she would never forget his pale and anguished face. His silver eyes, bright with unshed tears, made his blond eyelashes shine like gold, and his sweat made his robe stick to his chest, revealing the shape of finely chiselled pectoral muscles. It was through the dirty mirror of an abandoned bathroom that Myrtle saw for the first time a boy with the darkest of pasts but the purest of souls, and it was in that moment that she knew she would never forget him._ ”

‘I don’t get it,’ Millicent said, turning off the WWN and Romilda Vane’s overly-dramatic reading of _Draco Malfoy: A Prince in Dragon’s Clothing_ , Rita Skeeter’s all-time best-seller. ‘How did such tripe get so popular?’

‘If only I knew!’ Draco sighed. Even the first time he’d read it, before the frenzy and the fans and the _stalkers_ , he hadn’t liked that particular chapter very much. ‘I don’t know what to do, Millie! And my staff is out of ideas, too. They’re a bunch of useless dolts and you’ve got to help me,’ Draco begged, trying not to sound too desperate. Only a little desperate.

‘Me? Help you?’ She looked genuinely surprised, which was a rare thing; Millicent seldom looked genuinely _anything_. ‘How on earth could I do that? And why would I even _want_ to?’

 _Because deep down you’re a warm and loving person who cares deeply about her friends_ , Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he said: ‘Please, Millie! Please, please, please! I’ll do anything!’

‘Not that seeing you begging doesn’t make me happy, Draco, but I’m not sure I’d be a great help anyway. Don’t you have other friends you can ask? Friends who aren’t labelled the fat, ugly bully no one could ever like.’

She had a point. Rita Skeeter’s book might have made Draco’s life a living hell, at least it hadn’t made people despise him. On the contrary. But Draco was selfish; he’d never denied it. If only more people than just Millicent could witness how selfish and rude and unfeeling he really was, maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation he was in now.

‘I have other friends,’ Draco protested. ‘But Blaise gets way too much out of this frenzy to do anything to help! Suddenly everyone thinks he’s this very suave and charming and sexy character, when he’s always been nothing more than a spoilt brat.’

Millicent raised her eyebrows at that. Draco remembered that her being so level-headed was the main reason why they didn’t hang out that often.

‘Well, more of a spoilt brat than me, at least!’ he insisted.

‘With friends like you, who needs enemies?’ Millicent said with a roll of her eyes. If you asked Draco, she had way too smug a look about her.

‘And Pansy,’ he went on, ignoring Millicent, ‘things with her are…complicated.’

Ever since the book’s release, everyone and their hairdresser seemed to have an opinion about him and Pansy. Problem was Pansy also had one, and it was rather by chance that Draco discovered how drastically it differed from his own.

‘You know,’ Millicent said, looking like she was about to impart the wisest truth in the universe, ‘when your problem is that people love you too much, it’s not your friends you should seek help from. And because it _is_ true that I—somewhat—like you, I am going to give you a tip: find someone who _doesn’t_ like you and has enough popularity to be _really_ listened to, and then convince them to slander you in public.’

Draco stared at Millicent. It actually made perfect sense. He chastised himself not to have thought about it on his own, but also forgave himself quickly. With all the running and hiding he had to do to escape from his throngs of fans, he didn’t have time anymore to hatch maliciously clever plans like he used to. Instead, he patted himself on the back for having had the good sense to ask Millicent for help.

Draco stood up with the feeling of a job well done. ‘That’s one problem that’ll be shortly solved, then. Thank you, Millicent.’ She didn’t shake the hand he was presenting to her, so he used it to flatten the inexistent creases on his robe.

‘May I use your Floo?’

‘Oh no, Draco. I’d rather not,’ she answered, not innocently at all. Draco gulped. There she appeared at last, the Slytherin she really was. She’d been way too helpful so far, suspiciously so. ‘I don’t have much Floo powder left, and I need to use it soon. I’m afraid I can’t spare any.’

Draco gulped again. His throat seemed to have troubles working properly.

‘I will...er. Leave through the front door, then,’ Draco hesitated.

‘You’ll have to,’ Millicent nodded. ‘Disapparating from a person’s home is just not a done thing.’

Draco nodded, keeping himself from gulping once more. His hand was clammy when it reached the doorknob.

‘Er, so...’ he said, grasping for something that would delay the inevitable. ‘Do you have any idea who would fit the profile, then?’ he asked as a last resort. ‘Someone who dislikes me but whom people would listen to?’

Millicent’s answer wasn’t very helpful. ‘If you can’t figure this on your own, there’s not much I can do for you.’ She laughed then, pulled the door forcefully and pushed Draco in the swarm of a few dozen hysterical fans waiting for him there, screaming their lungs out, seemingly wanting nothing more than to literally tear every last piece of clothing from his body.

Draco managed to Disapparate home before any lasting damage could be done to his body. He could unfortunately not say as much about his robes.

This was how, following Millicent’s advice and _figuring it on his own_ , Draco resolved to ask Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World and Official Hogwarts Rival ©, for his help.

 

ooo

Draco wasn’t his father. He liked to think that, despite all the bad choices he’d made in the course of his rather short life, he’d managed to change his family ways since the war. As a result and on principle, Draco did not bribe people. He did not throw money at things and expect them to turn out his way as a consequence.

He did have to promise a few autographed pictures and private chats with fans and attendance at a few balls to obtain Harry Potter’s home address. It was no bribe though. It was just... _a quid pro quo_. It was also a very dire emergency. What other choice did he have? It wasn’t Draco’s fault that the location of Potter’s house was better guarded than most state secrets.

Draco had already knocked four times when Potter finally answered his door, a toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste foam leaking on his chin. His hair was even more of a bird nest than Draco remembered, and there was something looking like melted butter stuck on his left cheek. His boxers—because apparently Potter found it acceptable to answer his door in his underwear—had a rip on the right leg’s rim and he only had one dirty-looking sock on.

‘Malfoy?’ was all Potter managed to say around his toothbrush. Draco hadn’t remembered how completely idiotic Potter could look before now (he also hadn’t realised it was possible to look quite so attractive whilst looking so idiotic).

‘Yes, Potter, Malfoy is indeed my name. And a good day to you, too.’

Despite Draco’s obvious attempt to make things a bit less awkward, Potter just stayed there, with his toothbrush sticking out and a vapid expression.

‘May I come in? This doorstep is not the most spacious to stay standing on.’

‘Ah? Oh. Okay, all right,’ Potter said as he took his toothbrush out of his mouth. Draco subtly _Scourgified_ the flecks that landed on his robe.

It took a handful seconds more for Potter to actually let Draco pass, and Draco tried not to show his annoyance. He was here to ask for a favour, after all, he couldn’t afford to antagonise Potter.

Of course, Potter made him wait in his living room without more than a ‘I’ll just…er, get this off’. When he came back from the bathroom, the stain on his cheek was gone, but there was now toothpaste on his shirt. There were no pants and no second sock either though. The rip in his boxers was still there, but Draco did not stare.

‘So, er. You’re…?’ Potter trailed off, one hand scratching at his scalp, making his hair even more of a mess. Draco wanted to do something about it: charm it, curse it, jinx it, bury his hands in it. He didn’t know which one, and he tried not to think about it too long.

He focused back on Potter’s question. Well, what passed as a question in Potter’s world. Was Potter still able to make full sentences? Draco wondered. Maybe there’d been lasting damage from all the foolhardiness of his younger years. Maybe his scar actually was deep enough to reach his brain. Perhaps asking him for help wasn’t Draco’s best idea. He needed someone who was actually able to speak in public.

‘Are you all right, Potter?’ Draco asked, but not because he cared or anything. He just needed Potter to be in top shape if he wanted him to be of any use.

‘Yeah, I’m…Yeah. You just…caught me off-guard, I guess. I didn’t expect _you_ , of all people…to actually…’ Potter trailed off again, his cheeks a bit more pink than they were a few seconds ago. There was something in his attitude that resembled the teenaged fans he met in Diagon Alley, and dread suddenly invaded him.

‘Have you… _read the book_?’ he asked, trying to word his question as carefully as possible. He didn’t want to give anyone any ideas. This damned book was always better unread, if you asked him.

Potter frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’ He seemed suddenly very lost, and Draco found that fact quite satisfying.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Draco answered with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘I’m here because...’

‘Wait,’ Potter cut him off rudely, snapping back to what Draco remembered as his usual self. ‘This situation doesn’t make sense, and I need it to make sense. First and foremost, how on earth do you know where I live?’

‘Does it really matter?’ Draco was trying for carefree and innocent, but Potter had abruptly turned furious, and Draco couldn’t help but tremble a little bit at the sight. As inept as he seemed to be at everyday life, there was no doubt this was the man who’d won a war at age seventeen.

‘Of course it matters, Malfoy!’ Potter cut him off again. ‘Do you know what would happen if everyone knew where I live? I actually value my privacy very much.’

‘Well, I do, too!’ Draco retorted, feeling himself becoming angry. Not everyone had the luxury of a safehouse at hand. Wasn’t Potter supposed to be a little more selfless?

‘You...value my privacy, too?’ And there was confusion again. Merlin, was this man slow. If Draco had any other choice, he would have given up asking him for help already.

‘No, Potter,’ Draco answered, enunciating as slowly and clearly as possible. ‘I value _my_ privacy, and very much so. Unfortunately, I’ve got almost none of it left! I’d have thought you could sympathise.’

Potter frowned. He seemed taken aback by Draco’s outburst, but no less sceptical.

‘So, if we summarise the situation, you’re basically bothering me at my own home—and without Owling first—so that I can prevent the _exact_ same thing you’re doing to me from happening to _you_.’

‘I see you’re catching up quicker than I thought you would, Potter. You might be useful after all.’ Draco smiled at Potter. Things were turning out well if he didn’t have to put more effort than that into convincing him. He sat down on Potter’s ratty but surprisingly comfortable couch and waited for Potter to sit down, too, before going on, ‘So I thought that I could talk with your people directly to set up a press conference. It’ll be of minimum bother to you, that way, and we can work rather efficiently.’

‘My people?’ Potter had his confused look again.

‘Yes. Whoever on your team handles press relations and such.’

‘I...don’t have a team?’

‘Merlin’s beard! With all the gold in your Gringott’s vault, you’re not even bothering to hire professionals? Are you only resting on your little clique of friends? Don’t tell me you have that Lovegood woman in charge of all your contacts with the press!’

‘No, I actually don’t have anyone doing this at all,’ Potter answered with a shrug. ‘Why would I? I just...never talk to the press.’

Draco squinted. He understood what Potter was saying on a grammatical and vocabulary level, but there was just something that didn’t make sense.

‘But...how?’ Draco wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted to ask. ‘How do you...avoid slander, and such?’ Draco’s staff might be a bunch of useless dolts, but back before Skeeter’s book, when Malfoy was a household name for everything bad about the Wizarding World, he couldn’t have _survived_ without them.

‘I don’t know,’ Potter shrugged. ‘I’m pretty sure Rita Skeeter’s afraid of me. And I guess the other journalists just like me.’

There was a pause during which Draco took it all in. He felt himself sink into Potter’s not that uncomfortable couch, amazed that, as famous as he was, Harry Potter’s life could be so simple.

‘I don’t think slander is your main problem though nowadays,’ Potter observed. _That_ was an understatement if ever there was any.

‘So you’re not as much of a hermit as you pretend to be, then. You still stay informed on what happens in the Wizarding World, if you’re aware of my predicament.’ Perhaps Potter _was_ the solution after all. He seemed smart enough to be, at least.

‘In this case, I’m just using my eyes, though.’

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Potter’s eyes were staring just over Draco’s shoulder, outside the window. Draco turned his head slowly. He didn’t want to see. He would have loved staying in denial as long as possible, but there was nothing to it.

Outside Potter’s window, in the centre of the little Muggle street his house was hidden on, stood a throng of at least fifty, with a fucking _banderole_ that read, in big shiny letters “WE LOVE YOU, DRACO”.

Draco could feel his cheeks heat. He didn’t remember ever feeling so humiliated in his entire life.

Draco turned back to Potter and tried to explain, to minimise the situation, but his tongue didn’t want to work. He found himself spluttering like a fool, and felt indescribably grateful when Potter quietly closed his blinds with a wave of his wand.

‘So, er. I guess I kind of understand why you’d need my help, after all. But don’t worry, I’ve had Death Eaters waiting for me in the exact same spot. They can’t get in here,’ Potter said, his tone reassuring. ‘Although I don’t really know how a press conference would help. I’d advise long vacations in a removed location, instead.’

‘Don’t worry, Potter. I have a plan.’

‘Okay,’ Potter answered easily, though he still looked dubious. ‘I’m in.’

 

ooo

It took a little more than a week to organise Potter’s press conference. First, to explain to him what exactly a press conference was and how to conduct one. Second, to manage to find someone, _anyone_ willing to provide a place where it could be held As it turned out Potter was on friendly terms with the new owner of the Leaky Cauldron, and she accepted to close for half a day for them. Draco might be the one with people following him everywhere at all time, but Potter was really the popular one. And last but not least, to convince the journalists of the Wizarding World, that it was _not_ some elaborate prank, but an actual public appearance by Harry James Potter, former Boy Who Lived and everlasting Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Although, as Draco saw him right now, fretting and worrying and messing his hair nervously, one who didn’t know better would have had trouble believing Potter was capable of any heroics whatsoever.

‘Calm yourself down, Potter.’ Draco took hold of Potter’s shoulders and tried to make him stay still. Draco was not interested in touching Potter’s broad shoulders for any other reason. ‘These people adulate you. They’ll write in their rags anything you want them to. All you’ve got to do is remember your message and not let them deviate from it.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ Potter answered, letting himself go slack under Draco’s hands. ‘What is my message again?’

‘Do you want me to punch you, Potter?’ Draco deadpanned.

‘No, I’m kidding.’ Potter wasn’t able to hide how nervous his smile was, but Draco didn’t remark on it. ‘I’ll just tell them how awful you can be, and we’re good, right?’

‘I hope so,’ Draco said slowly, and let go of Potter’s shoulders. His palms now felt oddly cold.

‘You sure you can’t come with?’

Draco didn’t bother to answer with more than _a look_ , and Potter didn’t insist. He took Draco’s hand in his and squeezed it briefly before entering the Leaky’s main room, where the journalists were already waiting impatiently. Draco was left alone in the kitchen, staring at his palm pathetically.

Draco did wish he could come with, if only to do some damage control when Potter inevitably screwed everything up. It felt really good, too, having Potter wishing him near like that, but Draco had to remind himself he had no other way to solve his problem. Potter had to do this alone.

All Draco could do for now was listening in on the press conference with WWW’s latest brand of Extendable Ears (New and Improved, Now with 230% More Intelligibility) and, when Potter inevitably botched it all, not smack his forehead loud enough for anyone in the main room to hear,

‘Well, so, er,’ Draco heard Potter begin, knowing right away that it was going to be a very _long_ event. ‘If I, er, invited you all here, it’s, er. It’s because I’ve noticed something that’s kinda worrying. I don’t want to order people around or anything, of course. If they still want to...you know, even after I’ve said what I wanted to say, of course they can. Not that I think they _should_ , but I mean, who am I to talk, anyway?’

Draco groaned. _Get to the point, Potter!_ Perhaps seeking help from the most reclusive wizard in the world wasn’t the best idea when public relations were concerned.

‘I just, er. It’s about Draco Malfoy, actually,’ Draco could hear Potter sifting through his notes and the crowd starting to stir at the mention of Draco’s name. Potter cleared his throat and suddenly his voice was louder and surer. Draco certainly hoped it was because he actually remembered the point of this press conference. ‘I wanted to, as they say, “pour cold common sense” on people’s daydreams about Draco Malfoy.’

Draco cringed at the choice of words while the members of the press gasped. He could hear whispers starting to spread and wondered if Potter’s authority was so, that Draco’s plan was actually already working.

‘I mean, er,’ Potter went on, ‘People should stop following him around all the time, because he’s, er…a person of dubious morality.’

 _A person of dubious morality?_ Wasn’t Potter able to do better than that? The dozen of hours Draco spent coaching Potter on his vocabulary choice seemed to have been utterly wasted.

‘You know,’ Potter was getting louder now, mostly because there seemed to be less and less polite protest among his public, ‘he’s always sneering, and er, he’s prejudiced, and he definitely doesn’t have a heart of gold or, er. Yeah.’

Potter made his last word sound like a conclusion, and Draco couldn’t believe his Extendable Ears. Did Potter really think this was sufficient enough an exposé? It was a good thing vanquishing the Dark Lord hadn’t demanded too many public-speaking skills, otherwise Potter would never have been taken seriously. Journalists were calling Potter’s name now, all hoping for an answer to this madness, probably.

‘Mr Potter! Where does this come from? Has something happened recently between you and Mr Malfoy for you to talk about him like this today?’

‘Er, no,’ Potter answered in a half convincing lie. ‘It’s just, there are all these people idolizing him, but he doesn’t deserve it. He used to call Hermione a Mudblood all the time and Hagrid an oaf, and he used to make fun of Ron and Neville just because he was mean. Is that really the kind of example you want your kids to follow?’

‘Mister Potter, do you have information on Draco Malfoy recently harassing one of these people?’

Draco guessed this was one of the Prophet’s most serious journalists. He wanted proof? Let him have some! _This is your time, Potter! Make something up!_

‘Er, not that, er. Not that I know of, no,’ Potter answered truthfully, instead of making Draco’s life easy and giving him back his bad reputation.

‘Then, Mr. Potter, does that mean you advocate holding against people their past mistakes in all instances?’

Merlin, these journos were going to be the death of Draco. Apart from Draco’s eye-colour (on which they expanded way too much, if you asked him), there was no grey for them, only black and white.

‘No, of course not!’ Potter answered too forcefully and too emphatically. ‘But, I mean. It’s not like Malfoy has done anything _good_ recently either!’

‘Well, um, actually,’ a high voice from the back of the room intervened, and Draco recognised with horror Artemis Longbones, editor in chief at _Draco Malfoy Magazine._ Draco hated that such a magazine even existed, hated that he could do nothing about it, and hated that its editor in chief had actual press credentials. ‘Draco Malfoy is known to have donated to a number of charities since the war, involving himself with reparations and a better education for our children, as well as pacifying Wizard-Muggle relations.’

Well, that was back when Draco still thought he needed to _salvage_ his reputation. Back when he could actually walk down the street without being assaulted by well-meaning fans. (He didn’t need to remind himself that back then, he couldn’t walk down the street without being spat on by malevolent detractors.)

‘Also, didn’t Draco Malfoy actually save your life during the war, Mr. Potter?’ Artemis Longbones went on, because this woman could never leave anything alone.

Draco held his breath. _Don’t be daft, Potter. Remember your message._ But of course, Potter didn’t remember his message. He didn’t remember it _at all_.

‘Well, he kind of... Yes, actually. He did,’ Potter said and Draco was all ready to leave and be done with it. This press conference was pointless and he’d better not have bothered. Stupid Millicent and her stupid advice. Then Potter went on, and it was even worse. ‘Draco did save my life. Without him, I don’t know whether I’d be here today. It could look like nothing, what he did. I mean, he just refused to identify me and Ron and Hermione, but it still was difficult for him in his position. Actually, I realise now that I’ve never thanked him properly for that.’

Draco felt like _shrinking_ himself and hiding underneath the floorboard for the rest of his human life. How could this have turned into such a terrible, terrible disaster? He looked at his wand, and for a moment he truly considered it, turning it on himself and discovering what life was like as a one inch tall-person. But the volley of questions that followed made him uncertain that even that would be enough.

‘Mr Potter! Isn’t it true that you’ve saved Draco Malfoy’s life several times as well?’

‘Mr Potter, do you have any comments on Draco Malfoy’s stealing your title as Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile?’

‘Mr Potter, do you plan on meeting up with Draco Malfoy to settle things between you two?’

At this point, there were too many questions one after the other for Potter to answer, and even if he did, the message wasn’t salvable anymore anyways. Let Potter do what he will, Draco didn’t want to be a witness to any of it. He unplugged his Extendable Ears, rolled them neatly and stuck them in his pocket, cast a _Muffliato_ around himself, and got out a book. He’d wait for Potter to wrap it all up and come back in the kitchen. If he was lucky, the amount of new members in the Draco Malfoy Fan club following this press conference would be a reasonable one.

 

ooo

‘So, er…I screwed up,’ Potter said simply, once he’d managed to get rid of the journos and join Draco, who was _not_ pouting. Brooding, that’s what he was doing: very maturely brooding, not pouting. ‘I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you...’

‘Nothing,’ Draco cut him off before Potter could trick him with his shy smile and doe eyes and plump lips. ‘This is a disaster for the ages, Potter. It’ll still be talked about in a hundred years: _The day Harry Potter declared his allegiance to Draco Malfoy_.’

‘What? I did no such thing!’ Potter had the gall to look scandalised.

‘Well, you might as well have! And you can get prepared for the rumours that we’re involved, too.’ Draco started to pace, trying not to think how descriptive these rumours were bound to be. How graphic some of these journalists could get sometimes. No, this definitely was not a good line of thinking.

Potter didn’t say anything to that, and when Draco turned back to him, Potter was looking away and his cheeks were this shade of pink they sometimes got when Draco stood too close.

‘Look, Draco,’ Potter went on, shaking his head slightly. ‘I don’t want to criticise your master plan, but maybe you’ve been going at it the wrong way from the beginning. I mean, asking _me_ , the Hermit of the Wizarding World to do a press conference? That was bound to fail, wasn’t it?’

Draco sighed and stopped pacing. ‘As much as it pains me to admit it, you might very well be right, Potter. But what other choice did I have? You’re the only person anyone would have listened to, and you were supposed to dislike me very much. Don’t you remember all the horrid things I did to you and your friends?’

‘I do, but as the journalists pointed out, you’ve done many other things since. Better things, for the most part.’ How could Potter sound so reasonable? Draco didn’t feel he deserved Potter being so reasonable about this. ‘There _is_ a reason people like you so much, it can’t be just your looks.’

Draco smirked at that. ‘Really, Potter? My looks?’ he leered. He wanted to see Potter’s cheeks turn pink again. He liked the colour, it suited Potter.

Potter ignored him but for a roll of his eyes, and went on, ‘The fact that you could have turned so _bad_ , with your parents and your upbringing and your Death Eater friends, but ended up being kindof okay is enough to justify why people admire you, Draco.’

Words were definitely not Potter’s _forte_ , but the sentiment was strong. Perhaps even too strong. Draco suddenly felt the need to look away.

‘I’m not entirely sure that was a compliment, but I’m going to thank you anyway, Potter,’ Draco said, once he’d regained his composure. ‘Though none of your sweet words resolve my problem one bit.’

‘Well, er,’ Potter began, his cheeks turning pink once more. Draco smiled at the sight. ‘I, actually. I’ve got, maybe, a solution to offer you.’

‘You do?’ Draco’s breath hitched. He could feel his heart starting to beat louder and there really was no reason for it. Draco wished his heart would behave. This was not the moment for heart-things to happen, this was a moment for very serious problem-solving. Potter was surprisingly more resourceful than Draco had anticipated, and he needed to focus on that.

‘I don’t know if it’s something you’re willing to do, but, well. It worked for me. With the, er…following and the fans, I mean.’

Draco’s brain was starting to interpret Potter’s words in accordance with his heart’s unruly behaviour, and it was frightening. Too frightening, too good to be true. Draco didn’t want to say anything in case his mouth agreed with his heart and his brain, but was wrong. He’d just stay quiet, let Potter get to the point without making a fool of himself.

‘Maybe you should just…er,’ Potter paused again, his words thick in his mouth, and _really_ how did Draco ever think it was a good idea to make Potter a spokesperson? ‘You should get away for a bit. My advice of long vacations in a removed location still stands. Vacations somewhere people can’t follow. So that you could be out of the public eye for a while. That’s what I did, actually. And it did work for me, so…’

And then Draco’s heart and brain and mouth stopped listening to Draco’s fears and just took control.

‘Do you know of any such place?’ Draco could hear himself say. ‘Where people can’t follow? Witches and wizards are able to follow people around pretty efficiently, after all.’

‘I know of a few…’ Potter looked away and took a deep breath, but when he started talking again, his eyes were trained on Draco, his gaze piercing him right through. ‘I could show you some of them if you want. And if you don’t want to go too far, I’ve got a lot of privacy right here. And I’m willing to share.’

Draco’s brain and heart and entire body rejoiced.

‘I—’ Draco didn’t even know why he was hesitating. He had no idea what it would be like, being with Potter, but from what he’d seen so far, it felt like it could only be good. It could only be _excellent_.

‘Okay,’ Draco answered finally, ‘I’m in.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/106479.html).


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